


The Spoils of War

by FesteringSilence, White_Rainbow



Series: Operation: Galactic Gambit [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode V: Empire Strikes Back, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: AU where the Empire wins at the Battle of Yavin, Developing Relationship, Drinking, Fan Art, Gossip, Grinding, Hand Jobs, M/M, Praise Kink, Tarkin/Krennic (secondary), tactical party, two emotionally stunted people admit their feelings for each other after alcohol is involved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 17:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9395519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FesteringSilence/pseuds/FesteringSilence, https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Rainbow/pseuds/White_Rainbow
Summary: With the Imperial Gala underway, Grand Admiral Thrawn is surrounded by his esteemed colleagues and doting subordinates. It is, however, difficult to concentrate on the revelries when a rambunctious crew of imperial army men are raising a ruckus across the ballroom. In the center of the chaos is Thrawn's new beau, General Maximilian Veers. By the evening's end, Thrawn will have the general to himself and perhaps teach him a thing or two about discretion.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Co-Creator/Artist: [FesteringSilence](http://festeringsilence.tumblr.com/)  
> Co-Creator/Writer: [White Rainbow](http://white-rainbowff.tumblr.com/)

 Tarkin approached the podium, a soft clink of a spoon against his snifter was all that was needed to hush the attendants of the Imperial Gala.

“Fellow Officers of the Empire,” Tarkin greeted, his stormy gray eyes roaming the room to engage each and every officer present as he spoke. “The Rebellion was never going to win this war. While they fueled their cause with meager hopes and fruitless dreams, we were fortifying our place in the galaxy with something far more important: Power. We were not handed power, we were not born with it. We took it from the dead hands of a weak and corrupt Republic. We built our might, we trained our people. We prospered by working together, by working as a single superorganism, focused on making this galaxy a better place."

“This battle...this war...was won by all of us. From the tireless work of our Stormtroopers and TIE pilots to the brilliant strategies set forth by General Veers, Grand Admiral Thrawn and their officers. The Rebellion threw all that they could at us, my fellow officers, but it was not enough. And do you know why?”

Tarkin let the words hang in the air. Then, slowly he rose a single, slender finger.

“Because the Rebellion was not destined to be the future of the galaxy. We...the Empire...Are.”

Excited cheers and whoops escaped the crowd and Tarkin waited a few beats, reveling in it before quieting the room again.

“Some of the key rebel leaders have slinked away into the darkness of space. They may try to rebuild. They may try to spark a second rebellion despite this devastating defeat. To that I will say this: We will not wait for them to come to us. A single flame can turn into an inferno if not snuffed out. We shall extinguish this galaxy of all resistance no matter how great or small. But that is a matter for tomorrow. Tonight, while our Battle Station is still coated in the stardust that was once Yavin IV, let us toast to victory for the Empire.”

Tarkin raised his snifter.

“Hail, Emperor.”

“Hail!” The room cheered. All raised their glasses.

Grand Admiral Thrawn raised his as well, a single blue hand contrasting with the muted hues of human flesh around him. The chiss’ attention shifted from Tarkin to the man at his side. His white uniform rivaled that of Grand Admiral Thrawn’s, though he had far less medals glittering on his tunic. Director Orson Krennic raised his glass mechanically, his face inscrutable as he surveyed the crowd. Krennic and Thrawn’s eyes locked for the briefest moment. In that moment, Thrawn wondered how the Director could stand idly by and watch Tarkin take his creation, his battle station, away so easily. As everyone turned away from the stage to mingle, Tarkin stepped down from the podium and approached Krennic. Thrawn tilted his head as the Grand Moff’s long fingers grazed the director’s jawline, resting beneath his chin. With a slight pressure, Krennic’s face was guided close to Tarkin’s as the governor whispered something meant only for the director’s ears. Thrawn could not make out what was said but he saw the Director’s neutral expression change...melt, in in fact. Those piercing blue eyes flashed at Tarkin, his lips salivating like a hungry puppy being promised a treat. He followed closely behind Tarkin as they walked off the stage through a side door down a long, empty corridor.

Grand Admiral Thrawn plucked a glass of Corellian red from a nearby garcon and surveyed the ballroom with a scrutinizing gaze. He had come to the gala alone, uninterested in becoming a subject of gossip by escorting an Imperial general when their relationship was still so new to them both. When Thrawn said as much to Veers, the general seemed to have understood this, but then subtle nuances of human emotions sometimes eluded him. He stood on the edge of the ballroom, looking over gray, green and black uniforms of his fellow officers and trying to pick out Veers from the rest.

He had just finished his second glass of wine before the General finally made his presence known in the ballroom. And when he did, Thrawn’s heart flipped, even if his lip curled in distaste.

General Veers strode toward the grand admiral at the head of an entourage of Imperial officers. Their deep gray uniforms stood out among the gray-green mass of naval officers like a storm cloud befitting the name of their AT-AT squadron, the Thundering Herd.

As the general’s brown eyes locked with Thrawn’s, they brightened, a slight smile edging on his lips before it was quashed when two more gray-clad officers greeted the general, blocking his way.

The Grand Admiral had been at the gala for some time and no one had dared approach him. The general, however, seemed to have no problem magnetizing every doe-eyed officer that wanted to meet the great war hero.

He watched the exchange in utter fascination. The body language of the officers, the way they stood at a respectful distance and yet seemed to resist every urge to run up and hug their superior officer. General Veers was known to be a strict commander, and a strong leader, but not a warm person. And yet, these officers had no qualms flocking to him, shamelessly singing the man’s praises.

While the general patiently shook hands, gave courteous nods and clapped the shoulders of his men, his attention seemed split. Those eyes, the color reminding Thrawn of a sandy landscape in a lonesome desert, gravitated towards the Grand Admiral, longing flickering in his gaze before being pulled away by more admiring fans. Thrawn allowed a small smile at the corner of his lips, showing his amusement at the situation.

Thrawn had never been concerned with being isolated from his peers. Being the only chiss in a world of humans lent itself to him being self-sufficient, and he was never one to seek approval or validation from his peers. Being solitary, in fact, provided a fortuitous opportunity to study humanity first hand; a rare gift for an anthropology enthusiast such as he. Even as an objective observer, however, Thrawn could not help but wonder how he would react if he had the kind of adoring subordinates Veers possessed. Would he enjoy the blubbering and gushing of young officers who seemed to only desire basking in his glory and starving for a smattering of praise?

Thrawn uttered a soft grunt of disgust.

General Veers finally managed to push through the growing crowd, allowing the rumbling cloud of admirers to collect behind him as he reached the Grand Admiral.

“Grand Admiral Thrawn,” Veers greeted, giving a curt bow.

Thrawn sipped his wine. “I see you have quite a collection here.”

“Blizzard Force!” someone shouted from the back.

“Thundering Herd!” another shouted.

“Oi!” a gaggle of officers responded, to which Thrawn could only assume was the response to an AT-AT warcry.

“Charming,” Thrawn sniffed.

Veers stepped in close. Although it was a still a respectable distance between them, Thrawn’s breath hitched at the sheer closeness in such a public setting. He could smell the musk of human scent on him, the adornment of woodsy cologne and a splash of some sort of brandy.

“May I steal you away later this evening, Grand Admiral? There are important matters that must be taken care of tonight.”

Thrawn hummed, his scarlet eyes flicking to the crowd behind Veers. “If you are not too worn out from your current social engagement.”

“I assure you, Grand Admiral, I will always find the strength to serve my Empire as needed.”

Veers flashed a quick smile and a wink, before regaining his austere composure. Thrawn cleared his throat, hoping no one noticed the purplish hue surfacing on his heated ears.

“Enjoy yourself this evening, General.”

Before Veers could respond, he was whisked away by his officers who urged him to a table they had secured, seating the general in the center seat with a high back chair.

General Veers said something out of Thrawn’s earshot and the other officers roared in appreciative laughter.

“Grand Admiral!” exclaimed a voice behind Thrawn. A silver-haired, mustachioed captain approached. He was clad in a gray-green uniform with a humble pair of service medals adorning his tunic. He wore a jovial smile and truth be told, he was the only man here besides Veers whom Thrawn was genuinely contented to see.

“Captain Pellaeon,” Thrawn said, “I am pleased you made a safe return from the Outer Rim to be here.”

Pellaeon’s white whiskers fanned out with his broadened smile. “I wouldn’t miss the celebration of your victory and the gala of the century, sir. I would blast every planet between here and Tattooine to see you given the honor you’ve long deserved. Now which one is it, my boy?”

Thrawn handled the familiarity of the commander with utmost patience. As a young chiss surrounded by humans as alien as they found him, Pellaeon, a few years his senior, had been a mentor and eventual comrade to him when others avoided Thrawn entirely. In later years, even if the Grand Admiral had not consider him thus, Pellaeon took on a fatherly role and Thrawn...tolerated it.

Thrawn forced a half-smile and tapped the edge of his newest medal. A golden disk engraved with the Death Star and ABY0 at the top.

“ABY0, sir?”

“We are entering a new era for the Empire. As such, the Emperor has decreed our calendars reset to BBY and ABY, Before the Battle of Yavin and After the Battle of Yavin. We are ringing in year zero, as it were.”

Pellaeon’s brown eyes glittered. “Astounding. Just astounding. Congratulations, sir.”

There had been a time when a young chiss lieutenant had called Captain Pellaeon “sir”. It still seemed strange to hear the title from his one-time mentor’s lips.

Thrawn smiled. “Thank you, Captain.”

The presence of Pellaeon seemed to be a beacon of comfort for other naval officers who emboldened themselves to approach the grand admiral as well. They gave courteous nods, bowed respectfully, and provided subdued praise of Thrawn’s battle tactics throughout Yavin IV’s final battle.

Admiral Ozzel remarked on the succinct timing in which Thrawn dispersed the TIE Fighter squadrons in random bursts to keep the enemy fighters off-guard. Captain Piett marveled at the ease in which Thrawn shifted tactics midway through the battle to accommodate around Darth Vader’s heroics within the equatorial canyon of the Death Star itself. Captain Needa and two of his colleagues joined the conversation, validating Piett’s assessment and adding their own thoughts on Thrawn’s superb stratagem.

The Grand Admiral took in all of this praise with poise and grace; hands tucked behind his back, chin up, but not so high as to put on airs. He allowed the civilized acclamations to wash over him, but not cloud his head. He excelled in all that he attempted because he was always aware that at any time a situation could turn for the worst; the predictable can take an unexpected turn and a great leader must be able to bend with the wind, not fight it.

He said as much to the other officers and they collectively showered him with more praise.

He allowed a small smile to adorn his lips.

He was about to express more wisdom to his wide-eyed audience when an out-of-tune anthem was belted out across the room.

 _“From the razor cliffs of Mittoblade_  
_To the fire mounts of Seffi_  
_We will fight our Empire's battles_ _  
In space, on land and sea!”_

Thrawn’s eye twitched, as did the eyes of several of his fellow officers.

They all turned towards the large, round table where General Veers and his fellow officers sat, uproarious laughter filling the other side of the ballroom. Thrawn turned back to his naval comrades, hoping the conversation would steer back to the Empire’s recent victory.

“Captain Needa, I applaud your support of the Seventh Fleet when we needed you. Your execution of the Pell-Mark Maneuver did not go unnoticed.”

All eyes turned back to Needa who was apparently incapable of hiding his shock.

“Th-thank you, sir. I admit I had been eager to use the maneuver since I learned about it at Captain Pellaeon’s lecture last cycle.”

“I am happy it had served you so well,” Pellaeon replied, his chest puffed out proudly.

As Pellaeon and Needa displayed examples of humility to the rest of the attentive officers, Thrawn’s eyes drifted to General Veers and his doting comrades.

A band of new admirers had joined the group, their black uniforms signifying leaders of the army’s TIE Fighter squads, no doubtedly the Death from Above Squadron. There being no more chairs, some officers acquired seats from other less occupied tables, while others merely stood over the rest of the officers, clamoring to be near the general.

General Veers meanwhile seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the gratuitous attention.

A few officers reached for a carafe on the table, but it was High Colonel Freja Covell who swiped it first, claiming the honor of refilling Veers’ empty glass. Veers flashed a charming grin to Covell, took a generous sip of the brew, then continued on with his story.

Thrawn was not a possessive man. He would not invest time in someone he did not completely trust, and Veers gave him little reason to be concerned. Still there existed a spark of jealousy at seeing Veers make a spectacle of himself so freely in front of everyone when he himself had yet to experience this side of Veers personally.

And more than the jealousy, it rankled him to see this man he respected guffaw and spew sloppy expletives with the ornery sort while the rest of the Imperial forces carried themselves with more reserved dispositions.

“Are you alright, sir?” Piett asked.

Thrawn forced his shoulders to relax. “Yes, Captain, please continue.”

But Piett did not continue. Instead, he followed Thrawn’s gaze to the general’s table.

“Brutish lot,” Piett sniffed.

The candidness of Piett took the grand admiral by surprised. And yet, the Captain’s sentiment seem to ripple throughout the room.

Thrawn’s ears caught snippets of conversations from other officers. Most of the comments were murmurs of disapproval, or snorts of distaste…

“Look at them,” a squad leader murmured, “all pandering to him like he won the war himself.”

“They are all so desperate for his approval,” his counterpart replied, “trying to grab at any promotion they can.”

“Or grab at something else.”

“Oh, stop it.”

“Wouldn’t you? He is an oaf like the rest of them, but you can’t deny he has an allure to him. An alpha dog I wouldn’t mind leashing.”

As the two tittered softly, Thrawn’s cool temperament began to boil.

If he gripped his drink any tighter it would have shattered in his hand. Still, the grand admiral prided himself on his tight control of his hot temper…

…but then Ozzel became the spark that lit his already shortened fuse.

“It astounds me that the Emperor tolerates their lot within our ranks,” Ozzel sneered, “But then I suppose every military needs pawns for battles while the knights win the war.”

It took Thrawn a moment to realize the low snarl that had interrupted the other officers’ murmurs of agreement was, in fact, coming from him.

The naval officers fell silent.

Ozzel’s mouth hung agape.

With a deep breath, Thrawn drew himself up to full height, towering easily over the other officers. In a soft, unnervingly calm voice, he said, “Your arrogance and naivety in the art of war is exactly why we need men such as General Veers, the Thundering Herd and Death from Above. These men see the battles that we merely know as blips on a radar screen. They improvise their attacks in fractions of a second, while we have the luxury of choosing maneuvers we leisurely learnt in lecture halls.” Needa, who had laughed hardest at Ozzel’s remarks, was now flushed, looking away. “While you may call them pawns, I call them fearless warriors.”

“Yes, but must they put their…bravery…on exhibition?” Ozzel huffed, nodding to the table again.

Thrawn did not want to look back at the table, knowing full well his defense of Veers and his men was going to take a step backwards. Sure enough, several officers rolled up sleeves and trouser legs as they took turns comparing hideous scars and the tales that went with them.The grand admiral sighed.

“Barbaric,” Needa agreed.

“Undisciplined braggarts,” Piett spat suddenly, as if feeling emboldened by the other two.

But then General Veers sat up in his chair. The other officers tucked away their battle souvenirs as he spoke. He did not reveal anything to these men; he merely gesticulated. His index finger started from the left side of his collarbone and traveled diagonally across his chest, stopping beneath his right pectoral. Several officers clapped a hand over their mouths. Others gestured emphatically. But all of them were quiet and humbled as the general spoke.

Thrawn felt his chest swell. It was so sudden that he pressed a hand against his uniform before hiding the vulnerable gesture with an idle adjustment of his collar.

“The gentlemen that follow General Veers may not be the caliber of character you would wish to engage in a social setting. They may not be the sort that you could conjure up civilized conversation with or introduce to your families.” Thrawn’s scarlet eyes narrowed. “But do not mistake their bravado, their hubris, for barbarism and unruliness. While we keep our uniforms pristine and our boots freshly polished, they are in the mud and sleet and storms of the very planets we wish to conquer. Our planetary domination of the core worlds was won on the ground, not in the sky. And even in the sky, his Death from Above squadron proved to rival, if not outshine, our own TIE units.”

Thrawn noted that other officers had gathered to listen in on his diatribe. Even the pair of lewd TIE squad leaders bent an ear to him. He continued as if he did not notice the growing crowd. “Without the Imperial Army’s exemplary leadership and bravery, we are nothing. You do not have to break bread with them, gentlemen, but you would do well to not underestimate their abilities. An insult to General Veers and his company is an insult to the Empire itself, and I believe you recall what we do to those who insult the Empire.”

He took a sip of wine, letting the silence simmer in the air.

The speech had the desired effect. The officers, both in his company and the others eavesdropping nearby, seemed to have wilted and lost their luster for gossip.

Thrawn glanced back at the table. His heart thumped unexpectedly at seeing General Veers looking past his chattering officers, gazing straight at the grand admiral.

_Had he heard? Impossible…_

Veers flashed a devilish smile at the grand admiral before turning to his officers. He nodded to them and they all seemed to shake their heads in response. As he rose they all rose with him, saying their goodbyes, bowing and saluting shamelessly. Despite being inebriated, as seen by the rosiness of his cheeks, Veers approached the Grand Admiral with a very steady gait. He bowed. “Grand Admiral, may I have a word in private with you?”

Thrawn kept his face neutral. “Of course. Gentlemen, if you excuse me.”

Thrawn followed half a step behind Veers across the ballroom, towards a narrow corridor that was devoid of any Imperial personnel.

When the hum of the gala’s frivolities had all but faded, Veers entangled his arm with Thrawn’s, stumbling clumsily into him as they walked. Despite his inebriation, Veers words were succinct if not slightly slurred. “I hope I was not interrupting your officers’ aggressive scrutinization of my squad leaders? If I had known they would be slinging daggers from their eyes all night, I would have worn my cuirass.”

_So he had not heard my defense of him or his team._

“You interrupted nothing that I was not already inclined to sever myself from.”

“And did you enjoy listening to your officers make their petty judgements about me and my men? Or perhaps you participated?”

Thrawn regarded Veers for a moment before continuing to walk. “I did not,” he said honestly.

Veers arched an eyebrow. “Why, grand admiral. Did you defend my honor?”

“I only said what was true.”

“And what did you say?” Veers pressed.

Thrawn bristled. “I am not going to feed that ego which has already dined so heavily on your adoring subordinates’ praises.”

Veers stopped in his tracks, stopping Thrawn as well. “Am I to understand that you are jealous?”

Thrawn gritted his teeth. “You are drunk, general.”

“You are! The cool, confident, infallible Grand Admiral Thrawn, is _jealous_ of my men doting on me while your stuffy officers are too busy seething in envy of my army to sing your praises.”

“I do not need my praises sung. We did our part as you did yours in this war. I will not have you insult my men as I did not allow them to insult you.”

Veers’ face lit up. “So you _did_ defend me. My white knight, quite literally in white. How apropos.” Veers hiccuped. “And what did you say? Did you remind them that it was my Thundering Herd who pounded the ground outside the Yavin IV base to scramble their sensors? Did you tell them it was Death from Above who finished off what your navy missed of the remaining rebel fleet? Did you tell-”

Thrawn grabbed Veers by the collar and shoved him hard against the wall.

“Perhaps I told them that you are nothing but a brutish man leading a band of simpering whelps at your beck and call.”

Veers licked his lips, his eyes glittering with lust. “If you truly thought that, grand admiral, I do not believe you would be here now.”

Thrawn said nothing for several moments, merely staring intensely into those pools of quicksand Veers called eyes.

Veers squirmed against the wall, half-heartedly attempting to work his way out of Thrawn’s hold on him. The chiss responded by easing his body against the general’s, slipping a thigh between the man’s legs. The eager general stopped squirming just long enough to straddle Thrawn’s thickly muscled limb, grinding shamelessly. Had Veers been hard the whole time he was goading the Grand Admiral?

“So impertinent,” Thrawn cooed, leaning into Veers, his thigh rubbing against that rock-hard length, “You push...and you push…” As he talked, Thrawn moved his hips back and forth, watching in fascination as Veers began to melt in front of him.

“Y-you love it when I push,” Veers panted.

“Do I?” Thrawn mused, his hands sliding over the general’s wrists, raising them up and pinning them against the wall over his head. Veers looked beautiful this way; back flushed against the wall, hands slack with surrender, a small curl of hair hanging limp over his forehead, undone from his perfectly coiffed hairstyle. The scent of sweet liquor and oaky cologne added a masculine air to his vulnerable position. He was helpless in Thrawn’s hands and yet the chiss knew the general could use a hundred different maneuvers against him to break the hold. Instead, the ground-pounding warrior only grinded his hips shallowly against him, teasing Thrawn’s own hardening member.

Thrawn leaned forward and brushed his lips against Veers’ luscious, pink earlobe.

“Would it please you to know that I spoke up in your defense?” Thrawn whispered. While one hand gathered Veers’ wrists overhead, his free hand slid down the general’s body, reveling in the way it shivered at his touch. “Would you be pleased to know that I called you…” He cupped Veers’ hardness in his palm and massaged slowly. “a...brave...fearless...warrior?”

Veers moaned and bucked his hips against Thrawn’s hand.

“And it is true, general, you did outshine my men,” he continued, nipping at Veers’ neck, fingers working the covered shaft in an intense rhythm, holding back his own heavy breaths so he could hear every deep rumbling sound Veers uttered. “And I assure you, I told them as much. You are one of the largest cogs in the Empire’s machine, general,” Thrawn panted. “You are a hero…”

Veers’ moans were growing louder, echoing throughout the quiet hallways.

Thrawn pressed his lips to Veers’ ear and gave his shaft a squeeze. “You are the hero of our Empire…”

Veers’ eyes shot open. “Thrawn, I’m going to come...slow down…”

Thrawn smirked, not slowing his pace. “And give me one good reason why I should not just let you release in your trousers. After all, despite your heroics in this war, you still acted like a first-year cadet with your friends at the gala. Perhaps you deserve to come like one as well.”

Veers let out a soft whimper, his eyebrows knitted, but a small smirk surfaced as he grinded into Thrawn’s hand nonetheless. “I can...convince you with...a single word,” he panted.

Thrawn arched an eyebrow.

“ _Mitth'raw'nuruodo_.”

Thrawn moaned openly before he could control himself, his own hardness almost getting the better of him.

“So...it takes a few glasses of whiskey to allow you to say my name correctly?” Thrawn asked, wetting his lips.

“No, it is a name I have moaned alone in the darkness many times since I’ve learned of it,” Veers replied in a husky tone.

The image of Veers lying prone on his bed, shaft in his hand, moaning Thrawn’s full name sent the chiss’ body into a raging inferno of need.

“Mitth'raw'nuruodo,” Veers moaned again.

Thrawn bared his teeth, his feral side unfurling like a waking serpent. He deftly unhooked the front of Veers’ trousers, the man’s cock practically pouring out of his briefs with the slightest tug of the waistband. Thrawn then undid his own trousers, taking the whole of his cerulean shaft in his hand and pressing it against Veers’ length.

The heat of his skin against the general’s...

The silkiness of Veers’ shaft...

The dewy come that rose from the reddened and purple cockheads, so very alien to each other...

It all sent the chiss’ nerves into a frenzy. His long fingers wrapped around both shafts and slowly...very slowly...he began to stroke them both.

Veers bit his lip, his body shuddering in beautiful submission to Thrawn’s touch. Never had the chiss encountered such a man, human or otherwise. Someone who could match his wits and passions so completely. Thrawn kept his strokes slow and steady, pressing his lips against the man’s soft mouth and breathing in his moans. He lessened his grip on Veers’ wrists and entwined their fingers tenderly.

“Thrawn,” Veers whispered as the chiss pulled away. “You can take more than just this...I want...” his words failed him for a moment, eyes fluttering. “...you inside me…”

The admission caught the chiss by surprise.

“Max…” Thrawn breathed, slowing his movements.

They gazed at each other for a long moment, Veers’ eyes glazed and pleading. Thrawn’s mind clicked at the implications of what that meant. He placed a gentle kiss on Veers' wet, parted lips. “When the time is right. And when we are both sober preferably.”

Veers laughed breathlessly. “Are you telling me you’re drunk?”

“I...am certainly not sober,” Thrawn admitted.

Veers gasped as Thrawn began to pick up his pace again. “So hard to tell.”

“I assure you a sober chiss such as myself would not be rubbing my partner’s cock in a dark hallway like an overeager adolescent.”

“Partner…” Veers hummed, dreamily.

Thrawn blinked a moment before forcing his face into an easy smile. Still, his heart pounded, unable to ignore the slip up. Their relationship was not officially defined, though to be honest Thrawn was not sure how humans established such things.

Yet hearing Veers say it aloud…

_Partner…_

“Come for me, Max,” Thrawn said, feeling his own orgasm begin to surge within him. “I’m so close…”

“In...Cheunh…”

Thrawn smiled. _“Vacosetahn tur ch'ah.”_

Veers stiffened, his mouth hanging open in a wordless cry as he released hot come over his knuckles. The slickness of it only emboldened Thrawn’s strokes to his own cock, feeling Veers’ member begin to soften as his started to pulsate.

Veers’ entire body vibrated with the oversensitivity. He whimpered and squirmed, but Thrawn leaned hard against him, muffling his cries with his own mouth as his climax rose higher...and higher…

His release mixed with Veers’ and he continued to stroke slowly until both of their members were completely softened in his palm. Thrawn released Veers’ hand and the general wrapped his arms around his neck, leaning heavily to keep from collapsing.

They held each other there in the dark corridor, foreheads pressed together, their heavy breathing the only sound in the quiet hallway.

Finally Thrawn pulled away, taking a handkerchief from his pocket and cleaning his hand.

Veers leaned heavily against the wall, sheathing himself once again and giving the chiss a weary, charming smile.

“Shall we rejoin the fray?”

Thrawn was about to answer with a decisive “no” when the sudden hiss of an opening door of one of the supposedly empty conference rooms sounded close by.

It was too close to bother trying to hide and so Thrawn merely stilled, while Veers stood stiff at attention. Their uniforms were slightly wrinkled, their brows both glistening with sweat and even as Veers tried to smooth out his hair, it still looked as if he was basking in a post-coital glow.

_It is unavoidable. Whoever walks out of that conference room will have the pleasure of being the first to know of this clandestine engagement. We can only hope they are not the gossiping sort._

Grand Moff Tarkin stepped out of the conference room, unaware of the two officers in the hall, too busy straightening out the sleeves of his uniform. As he straightened his tunic beneath his cinched belt, he began to walk down the hallway back towards the gala. He took only a handful of steps before finally looking up...and stopping short.

“Gentlemen,” he greeted, his tone even and calm.

The door hissed a second time and out limped the extravagant form of Director Krennic, cape billowing behind him, legs walking stiffly. He hurriedly adjusted his gloves and slightly wrinkled tunic before nearly running into the grand moff.

His reaction to the grand admiral and general’s presence held considerably less poise. His blue eyes widened for a moment, then flashed with fury, which was then suddenly extinguished with overly jovial charm. “Grand Admiral Thrawn, and General Veers is it? Good to see you both.”

Tarkin said nothing, and merely looked at the two officers with thin-lipped displeasure. Thrawn was curious as to whether the grand moff was more upset that his two high-ranking officers were also engaged in an affair, or if he was caught in one himself.

“I trust your discretion in this matter?” Tarkin said flatly.

Krennic blustered behind him. “Discretion in what? Our conference was of the utmost urgency. It-”

Tarkin raised a bony hand in the air that immediately silenced the director.

 _Delightfully obedient,_ Thrawn observed. _Just what went on in that conference room, I wonder._

General Veers stood beside Thrawn and they both bowed. “Of course, sir. You have a wonderful evening.”

Tarkin nodded his head. “You as well.” He started to walk, then paused again. “Congratulations again on your victory, Grand Admiral, General. Enjoy your spoils of war.”

And with that, Tarkin strode down the hallway, a limping, scampering director close at his heels.


End file.
